"However, as he is coming to-morrow, that
will do quite as well. Sybil, dear, you look tired. Why don't you go and
lie down before dinner?"
"Oh, because--I am not tired, really. I am always pale, you know."
"Well, I am tired to death myself, my dear, and as there is no one here I
will say I am not at home, and rest till dinner."
Mrs. Wyndham had been as much startled as any one by news of the senator's
death that morning, and though she always professed to agree with her
husband she was delighted at the prospect of John Harrington's election.
She had been a good friend to him, and he to her, for years, and she cared
much more for his success than for the turn of events. She had met him in
the street that afternoon, and they had perambulated the pavement of
Beacon Street for more than an hour in the discussion of the future. John
had also told her that he was now certain that Vancouver was the writer of
the offensive articles that had so long puzzled him; at all events that
the especial one which had appeared the morning after the skating-party
was undoubtedly from his pen.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208